


Kintsugi

by azure7539



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, POV James Bond, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: Kintsugi(noun) (Japanese): The art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.“To me, a piece of broken ceramic finds another piece, and they come to rely on one another. The cracks between them symbolise the wound. The work is a metaphor of the struggle of life that makes people more mature and beautiful as they overcome their sufferings.” — Yee Sookyung.-In which Bond receives a deep undercover mission to infiltrate a terrorist organisation, and ends up finding more than what he came looking for.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evisionarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/gifts).



> Written for 00Q Reverse Big Bang 2016-2017.
> 
> This got away from me as it is the longest one-shot I've ever written. The story isn't great, I'm not really happy with this result, but I'd rather put it out here rather than leaving it to gather some more dust. There are plot holes, and the cultural context isn't too spot on, but most specific locations in here are real at any rate.
> 
>  **A special thank you to my artist,[evisionarts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/pseuds/evisionarts)** , who created this wonderful piece ( **Sex, Guns and Rock and Roll** ) that inspired the entire fic. I hope you will find the story at least marginally well enough to your taste! **And I thank the dedicated 00Q mod, the Nut** , for having organised and hosted this event!
> 
> To the readers, please, enjoy~

**KINTSUGI**

 

When Q came to, it was with a groan. But at least he was conscious, and that alone brought a grim smile to Bond’s lips.

“Q?” he called, trying to draw the other man’s attention.

After a few long seconds or so, a strained replied came, sounding disoriented and strangled in a way that told him Q was trying to hold back a coughing fit, what with all the debris undoubtedly clogging up his lungs: “Here.”

Bond sucked in a silent breath. “Are you hurt?” His own voice was a little scratchy, but coming out steady enough that it oddly pleased him.

“Not particularly,” Q muttered. Bond could feel the locks of those ridiculously soft curls brushing over his forehead.

“All right,” Bond said, swallowing. “I want you to listen to me carefully then.”

Under him, Q, who had been trying to move a little out of instinct, stilled. “James?” Bond ignored the way his throat constricted a little at how cautiously quiet the syllable was. “Where are we?”

“Still in the tunnel.” Hence the near pitch black darkness.

It took a second, but Bond knew recollection was finally crashing in when Q croaked out a curse under his breath.

“There’s a pen in my breast pocket,” Bond said, cutting through the trains of Q’s thoughts that he could almost hear running. “Take it out and check if it’s still working.”

“Bond, why…” Q paused, and Bond could hear his breathing quicken. Even if it wasn’t strictly a good sound, considering it was stemming off from what must have been panic and worries and considering their slight predicament right then, it was still better than the oppressive silence that had been jamming into Bond’s eardrums, and the agent found it marginally comforting.

Not to mention Q’s warmth, but that wasn’t the focus right then.

“James,” Q called, more urgent this time, his hands starting to move, and Bond could almost feel the concern flaring now that Q was beginning to realise just how confined they were in this space.

That was the first time he had ever really called out Bond’s first name.

Q froze when his fingers touched some solid steel, and found it stick and hot instead of the expected coldness. And Bond couldn’t quite hold back that grunt that had the other man tailing it with his own gasp.

“James…”

“I’m fine,” Bond grumbled.

“No, you’re not,” Q hissed back, the heated viciousness betrayed by how his words frayed at the end. “There’s a bloody steel bar plunging _straight through_ you for God’s sake!”

And somehow, Bond couldn’t help but smile at that. “Just a graze in the side,” he replied, deceptively calm.

Despite the situation and the blood that was slowly trickling out of him, he regretted none of this, not even down to the steel reinforcing bar that was plunged straight through him right then, as Q had so eloquently put it.

He could have done better at certain parts, true, but overall… he didn’t regret it.

****

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**_[Some months earlier. . .]_ **

 

* * *

****

Tunisia was a disaster. Bond got out with only a few minor injuries to speak of after collapsing an abandoned building, and what was more troublesome, in the end, had always been falling from that height of adrenaline. It itched and burrowed under his skin, and Bond alleviated it the only ways he knew how: with drinks and sex.

Nice suit on, Bond went to one of the more high-end hotels in the opposite direction from his own flat ( _just because he can_ ), dined and drank wine that might as well have been liquor gold ( _where else is one going to spend all that money_ ), then picked up a beautiful woman ( _all curves with long wavy hair and dark, dark eyes; too red lips_ ) from the bar to bring back to a room right upstairs. He barely remembered her name, and neither did she his, judging from how she was already launching herself into his arms, seconds after the door closed.

The dress fell from its perch point on her shoulders in a shimmering stream and pooled at her ankles _._ And just like that, he was peppering kisses down along her body, tracing unfamiliar planes and appreciating the fleeting beauty this offered.

He kept himself verging at the edge, always near the tipping point but not quite ( _not until the end_ ). It kept him busy, mentally and physically, as he worshipped the body under his, enjoying how it writhed and shook because of him. Bond poured himself into it to get rid of this leftover energy that nibbled at his mind and made him restless.

But even after he was done, with the nameless woman draping herself all over him, the numbness lasted for about half an hour before the cycle began winding back once more, and Bond told himself maybe he wasn’t drunk enough just yet and removed his body from under her weight.

He didn’t care whether or not she was really asleep when he showered, gathered his clothes, and left.

 

-

 

The flat was stuffed with stale air and accumulated dust when he returned, dark and poorly illuminated by street lamps outside. It was nothing new, and he couldn’t spare it another thought before making for the cabinet where he kept his liquor and served himself shot after shot after shot of scotch, the liquid amber burning its way down his throat.

Well at least it was good, and soon, Bond was pissed and warm enough that he didn’t pay too much attention to how cold the sheets were and how quiet this place seemed to be anymore.

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, he woke up with a spectacular hangover. Head throbbing in unison with all other injuries, Bond decided to sleep this off… until he couldn’t even do that anymore, because life never failed to strive and kick him in the shin.

Growling, he turned to glare at the vibrating phone, right then probably the vilest object in existence, and debated whether or not to just hurl it into a wall even as he picked it up.

“Bond,” he grumbled.

 _“There’s a new mission for you,”_ Bill Tanner replied, straight forward despite the apologetic undertone.

“I just got back from one,” was Bond’s reply, mostly out of aggravation and the fact that he was sporting a dull headache that wedged itself just right behind his eyes.

_“Yes, but we’re short on agents with your skills and calibre right now. All the other Double-Os are still running their own missions.”_

A pause, then: “Fine. When am I expected?”

_“1030. She’ll be waiting.”_

 

* * *

 

Bond sauntered in at 11, suit and cologne on, and looking nothing like he had just barely pulled himself together half an hour ago.

Tanner didn’t look surprised by the tardiness; he had been observing Bond’s codes of conduct for too long now to be. And Bond gave the chief of staff an inclination of his head before heading into M’s office alongside the man.

“Next time you’re late again, 007,” M said from where she was going through a file on her desk, a fountain pen in hand, not sparing Bond a glance. “I’ll dedicate a portion of your salary to buying proper clocks and watches enough to fill your flat.”

“Yes, and agents are supposed to have at least two weeks off between missions,” Bond replied smoothly, though not disrespectfully so.

“Under normal circumstances, yes. I should know that; I wrote it myself. Though, I’m surprised you finally decide to remember the rules and regulations now.” The file in front of her closed. “Don’t pretend you hate it. We both know that you were planning on drinking those two weeks off away at any rate.”

She did look up at this, her eyes narrowed and piercing, and Bond felt his back straighten as his lips quirked a small smirk.

“007, reporting for duty as it is, ma’am,” he replied.

“Good,” she said briskly, gesturing him to sit so the debrief could start, and Tanner handed Bond a folder without missing a beat.

“Kaeden Technology Development Corporation,” Tanner began. “Specialised in computer parts and general engineering… on the outside. Our sources confirmed that they are selling weaponised technologies as well as utilising those themselves. For terrorism, among other things.”

And those “other things” included drugs dealing (relating back to their subsidiary pharmaceutical company), money laundering, and possibly any other dirty side jobs that one could think of.

“Your job is to infiltrate the corporation, find out as much as you can about where and whom they’re sending their weapons to, and take out its head, Elias Kaeden”—Tanner slid a photo across the desk in front of Bond which he took and to study the man smiling back at him through narrowed eyes, spotting a faint scar at the end of the left eyebrow— “along with the hacker that’s working for him.”

There was no photo this time, and Bond looked up.

“Or cyberterrorist,” Tanner carried on. “Helps cover their traces, eludes tracking, and creates a firewall to protect the corporation itself, to start. Q is what that this person goes by.”

“No available information?” Bond arched an eyebrow.

“Apparently erased themselves from existence.” Tanner’s expression was tight.

Well, that would explain it. Bond couldn’t say he didn’t expect it.

“We will provide you with an opening, 007,” M spoke up now, voice sharp and ice, as clinical as her critical eyes were. “Take it and finish the job.”

The folder in his hand closed with a quiet _snap_. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

This was how Bond wound up in Tokyo 27 hours later, reading a Japanese novel he had picked up from the airport just to brush up on his reading skills.

It had been a while.

 

-

 

Going through the news channels a few weeks later as he waited for a specific phone call, Bond was trying not to go stir crazy from boredom and inactivity, mission-wise.

Patience was a virtue that he only practised on and off. More often off than on, as it stood.

The endeavour to try and install him into the terrorist cell was still going. Bond had been allowed partial involvement in the planning, but not much beyond that, since they wanted him clean and away from the ‘scenes’ as much as possible so as to not cause suspicion.

Apparently, there had been another lead that ambiguously connected the corporation to a few certain, small attacks in Uganda, and MI6 would be damned if they weren’t doing everything they could to exploit that and create the most seamless and understandable entrance for Bond.

His mobile rang, _finally_ , and Bond instantly had it pressed to his ear.

_“You’re in.”_

* * *

 

* * *

 

Shinjuku was a populated place, that much was obvious as Bond observed the cars, the people, and the cluster of skyscrapers not too far away from where he was standing. He would say he was surprised that the corporation wasn’t amongst one of those tall buildings, but terrorists had always been notorious for inconspicuousness and their ability to blend in, which were all the more reasons for Bond to squash and obliterate all of this as much as he could.  

Just as he was about to turn and step into the nondescript office block, the distinct _ding-ding-ding_ of a bell turned Bond’s head quickly enough to see a figure on a bicycle whooshing by, rounding the corner and disappearing behind the building.

With a frown, Bond shook his head and continued on his way. Teenagers.

 

-

 

Turned out, there were quite a handful of applicants. No one talked about how they managed to hear about this so-called recruitment, and no one talked about where they came from. Someone did start a mundane chat though, as candidates were called into an office and left after a few minutes, and Bond half-listened, half-observed the surrounding environment, cataloguing details away to the back of his mind for later analysation because, at this point, anything could and might come in handy.

Mostly, the façade of a bustling office was well-kept, and Bond suspected that at least sixty percent of the people working here hardly knew what truly went on behind the scene. Discretion: The fewer the people who were aware about the nature of the underground operations, the better.

Amongst the office workers, Bond had identified a few characters who possibly required a bit of further digging, but that could wait and should wait because the secretary had got off the phone, and was rounding her desk to head toward them.

“Mr Morris will see you now, Mr Sterling.” She smiled, for which he returned the courtesy, buttoned his jacket, stood, and walked in.

 

-

 

The interview was straightforward. Morris was the sort of man that Bond had come by before—severe, austere, expecting results—and so he saved his charms for later (since such things would only aggravate Morris more, rather than less, this early on in the game), kept the fluid confidence in place, and focussed on the point of discussing the extent of his experiences and capabilities, based on the layered files that the techies at MI6 had compiled for him.

Morris had barely grunted more than three sentences, left the information he had (without a shadow of a doubt) pulled up on Bond decidedly untouched for the time being, a long and considering look flashing in his otherwise impassive eyes, then dismissed him.

 

* * *

 

When words came back stating that Bond had made it a couple of days later, Tanner told himself it was only to be expected.

Yes. . .

But this was only the beginning of the operation, and so many things could go so spectacularly tits up that the man couldn’t help a sigh as he carded a hand over his already thinning hair, exasperated.

And that was just going to be the least of it.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

The room they led the group to resembled an underground bunker, probably because it was one. An assortment of weapons, ranging in various sizes and calibres, lay on the shiny metal surface of that lone table in the middle of the concrete space. Bond didn’t need to observe the others’ expressions to know, much as he did, all of them understood this for what it was: a test.

They were being outfitted for a test, and honestly, Bond would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly disconcerted about the unknown prospect ahead, even if this had been within expectation, considering that most men were already going for the heavy, mass-destructive guns out of their trigger-happy tendencies.

Sighing, the agent readied himself efficiently enough—handgun, ammo, and a knife—leaving enough time to assess the situation and watch the rest of their little group also, eyes trailing down along the given weapon in his hand, testing the weight, the slides and cock, the click of safety.

At first glance, nothing seemed off about the gun, but on closer look, the modifications, no matter how subtle, were there. Perhaps that was the reason why the mechanisms had seemed to flow smoother than the usual guns?

Bond frowned. He’d see how this work, since Kaeden’s weapons had had a few reports of jamming as well.

Not so perfect after all.

Moments later, Morris came to lead them away, and the buzzing energy and anticipation of what to come next were near palpable as they travelled down a medium-sized hallway, still concrete and blaring fluorescent lights overhead. ( _Possible psychological influence via environmental manipulations._ )

The door at the end of the hall opened up to what could only be described as an indoor town, just with walls made out of simple, dividing panels and without the people. It was mostly dark, and Bond somehow recalled the fact that they had been given real bullets to put into these guns.

“There’s a hostage from our side being held captive here,” Morris began, voice booming—another deliberate stress inducing element.

 _Our side_ , Bond noted with a discreet curl of his lips. What a joke.

“Your job is to extract and retrieve that person without any harm done,” continued Morris, turning to point upward to where a digital timer hung from the middle of the ceiling. “You all have an hour, and when that clock hits zero, it’s game over. So take this seriously, lads. You ain’t here for play.”

 

-

 

It took less than thirty seconds for them to find out, to its full extent, that the bullets were just as real as they had looked and felt, and blood spattered everywhere as the first supposed ‘enemy’ went down with a piercing scream.

 

-

 

Right from the get-go, it was obvious that this was no teamwork game.

Or, the other participants made it an obvious no-teamwork game.

Bond was a trained assassin, skilled and fully equipped with both the physical and mental capacity to manage the situation as he had been through worse. He was used to working alone—both a style and a preferred method that many killers such as himself were familiar with.

However, with the sort of merry shooting and trigger-happy atmosphere on the rise here, it would have been easier and much faster to have worked and sorted through this mess as a team.

He raised his eyebrow at a slumped body in the corner, a fellow candidate, sighed, and moved on.

 

-

 

As expected, things went downhill relatively fast, considering the chaos that had ensued.

Most of these men were guns for hire, yes, but not all were the professionals they prided themselves to be, and now, apparently, a large number of them were more or less unable to identify between ‘friends’ and foes.

Well, not that it mattered much, as long as he got himself to that barricaded room first before any of these buffoons did.

 

* * *

 

When Bond yanked open that door to the final room, he paused when he saw a boy— _young man_ —sitting there and typing away at his laptop, perfectly calm, features illuminated by the glow from the monitor.

He looked up at Bond, adjusted his glasses on the bride of his nose, brows furrowing with a flash of annoyance, as though _Bond_ had interrupted him in the middle of something important, before exhaling.

“Oh,” he muttered, giving Bond a once over. “I suppose you’re here to ‘rescue’ me?” It sounded less like a question and more like a rather disdainful statement, the words spoken in a cultured, steady voice, surprisingly of British accent also. Posh.

“You suppose right,” Bond replied, closing the door behind him, stance straightening and alert. He arched an eyebrow. This was obviously the last thing he had expected to find inside the reinforced cubicle, and aside from the kid looking entirely too young for this… he looked like he belonged elsewhere, far, far away from this, probably in a laboratory of sort.

Then it struck him. There _was_ a laboratory here, where they tested weapons and churned out new weapons once in a while, and this kid could very well might be the one closely involved with all those procedures. With that sort of demeanour and air, Bond doubted he was only a techie around here, no matter his age.

They started younger and younger these days.

“Do me a favour and stand up then,” Bond said, forgoing the pleasantries for now. He had been given a task, and he intended on finishing it.

The young man looked him. “Pardon?”

“I’m here to rescue you.” Bond was fast approaching the table in four long, successive strides, and his hands were gripping at the edge of it in no time at all. He looked straight into the young man’s eyes, a stormy green-grey now that he was close enough to decipher, somewhat bloodshot either from sleep deprivation or a prolonged, fixated concentration on the laptop screen, whichever came first. Bond quickly waved the thought away. “It’s not much of rescuing if we just stay here in this room now, is it?”

The brunette’s eyebrows climbed farther up his forehead as he met Bond’s gaze straight on. If he was bothered by the agent’s looming presence, he hid it well, and this added another mark in Bond’s expanding, however vague, category of this person.

“It’s not within your given instructions,” the kid replied, an almost hint of challenge in his tone.

Bond snorted. “If you’re making this a practical drill, may as well do it the right way.” His hand was on the laptop now, and he could close it in one swift gesture. “No one rescues a hostage by making him stay put where he, supposedly, is being held captive.”

“Hands off my laptop. Right now,” came the sudden demand, steady with a razor edge.

A cold, amused smirk curled Bond’s lips. “Pack your things and get ready to leave in thirty seconds, and I will,” he said, enunciating each word slowly.

It was a stalemate, and one that wouldn’t really end unless someone finally gave. And Bond knew that ‘someone’ wouldn’t be him, because, despite his insistence, this wasn’t an actual time-sensitive hostage retrieval case, and Bond could afford to do this all day if he had to.

That kid, on the other hand? Not so much… if the final irritated huff he gave was anything to go by, and Bond fought the urge to smirk.

“Fine,” he snapped and stood up to close his laptop and shoved it inside a messenger back he had picked up from the floor next to his chair, a string of muttered curses under his breath.

Amusing as this was, Bond wasn’t entirely bluffing about his wanting to finish the so-called mission in the nature that it had been given, wishing to get this over with as quickly as possible. He reloaded his gun with smooth efficiency, and supposed, the thought only crossing his mind just now, that it would have been more convincing if they had placed a guard or two in here, too, with whoever this kid was.

“Stay behind me,” Bond said, not expecting a response.

He didn’t get any, of course, but before he could even reach the door, it was already smashed in from the other side. Three enemies dressed in black were there, and the first one of them lunged.

Bond sidestepped him while delivering a resounding smack to the side of his head, and jammed his elbow right into the face of the second one, dislodging his gun out of his hand. Well, this was more like it.

The third one kicked him in the ribs, which managed to push him back somewhat but not quite. Bond braced himself, charged forward just as that third thug was running forth himself, hunched down at the last moment and hitched his shoulder, along with the entire force and weight of his body, into the goon’s stomach and knocked the air out of his lungs.

He turned around in time to shoot the first one in the kneecap, resulting in a piercing scream.

Remarkably enough, that kid had managed to stay behind his back all this time after all, but when Bond’s gaze flickered up to his face, he didn’t expect to see the surprise there. Not, however—Bond realised—surprised at the sight of blood, no.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” Bond said before he could stop himself, drawing the young man’s attention, who scowled now, as though covering up in his blunder of revealing his emotion, and suddenly looked up a little to his right.

Bond followed his eyes and found Morris walking toward them.

“Well done,” Morris said, grinning for the first time since Bond had met him.

And Bond had just rendered many of his men permanently handicapped. Not that the agent felt any sort of remorse about it, of course.

“That wasn’t supposed to be in the routine,” the kid snapped abruptly at Morris, who looked hardly caring or interested.

“Take it up to Elias,” Morris said dismissively, and Bond turned to regard the seething brunette. His hunches hadn’t been wrong. If he could afford talking to Morris like this, then he had to at least hold some sort of notable role in this organisation. “You know I have no say in this. He added it in last minute.”

But the young brunette was already pushing his way past Morris, fuming.

Morris scoffed. “Never mind him.” He turned back to Bond. “Congratulation, Sterling. You’ve been officially hired.”

“Richard is fine,” Bond said smoothly, looking around. “Where are the others?”

“Sent home, of course.” Morris waved him in a gesture that said to follow, and Bond did, falling into step beside the older man. He wondered if that actually meant going home, or just that they all had been eliminated somehow those who did managed to survive.

It was a tough call, one that Bond didn’t bother with much.

 

* * *

 

The Office remained as busy and bustling as before, and on the upper floor to that, they headed down the hall to where an office perched, soundproof from the looks of it.

_‘Chairman Office_

_Elias Kaeden’_

It said on the steel plate next to that bulky, oak door, and Bond waited patiently, smiling just a little as the secretary seemed somewhat flustered by his wandering attention while Morris fiddled with his mobile.

“He’ll be seeing you now,” informed the secretary, Kaori, a couple of minutes later, a tinge of heat on her cheeks when Bond inclined his head and sauntered inside with Morris.

He paused when he saw the brunette from before standing there, looking royally pissed, the gaze he threw toward Bond himself sharpening into a glare.

Bond raised his brow in return. What was with this hostility?

“Welcome!”

A booming voice cut through the silent, heated exchange, and Bond turned his gaze to its source, the remaining man in the room, whom he had already seen through all the captured photos they had handed him.

“I’m Elias Kaeden." The sole heir to this entire empire. "I heard you pass our test with flying colours!” The man grinned—hair a blazing bronze that felt somewhat irritable on the eyes, that faint scar visible still at the tail of his left eyebrow—and extended a hand. “Congratulations.”

“Well, first time such a thing has ever happened to me,” Bond replied with a casual smile, earning a laugh from Kaeden. “My name is Richard Sterling.”

“Appropriately modest,” Kaeden commented, patting his shoulder, and Bond paid it no mind. “I like you.”

The agent grinned a little even as his stomach tightened in distaste. “A fortunate thing for me, then, Mr Kaeden.”

Kaeden laughed again. “Yamamoto is out today. He’s my bodyguard, see. But you’ll get to meet him soon.” And with that, he turned to the youngest man in the room, beckoning him over from where he had stood still, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Come on. Come over here and say hi. Don’t be such a spoil sports. He protected you well, didn’t he?”

“That’s beside the point, Elias,” was the reply. “And what protecting? I sat there perfectly fine in that room until he barged in and ushered me out like a lost duckling.”

Bond found the corners of his lips quirking up a little.

“All right, all right. We’ll talk about it later, but at any rate, just come over won’t you?” insisted Kaeden, waving a dismissive hand. “He’ll be your new bodyguard from now on anyway.”

There was a momentary pause.

“What?”

The young man’s eyes were a little wide, tinged with some incredulity behind his thick eyeglasses.

“Yes, well, it’s growing dangerous out there these days, and I’d much prefer to have your safety guaranteed.” Kaeden went and led the other over, a hand on his rigid shoulder.

“Now, Q, meet Richard Sterling, your new bodyguard. Richard, I can call you Richard, yeah? This is Q. The amazing head of our tech team.”

 _Oh_.

It was like Bond was finally looking at the young man for the first time.

_So this is Q._

One of the two targets he had, specifically, been ordered to eliminate.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“I can take care of myself,” said Q again, in lieu of a dismissal.

They were in his office, a little cramped, a slightly stifling air of orderliness to it.

“Mr Kaeden doesn’t seem to think so,” Bond shrugged. “Either you cooperate with me, or you can complain and I’ll still be here doing my job.”

Q glared, his lips twitched minutely as though he wanted to say something but refrained himself just in time.

“Aren’t we supposed to be fetching my equipment?” Bond raised an eyebrow as he watched the young man slipped a large, rectangular, black bag that was about half his height onto his shoulder.

“We are.”

 

-

 

Bond supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when he saw Q quickly and fluidly assemble a folding bike he had taken out of that very same black bag before straightening up to look Bond squarely in the eyes.

They were roughly the same height, and like this, Bond could see those flecks of grey in the green pools almost distinctively.

“You can keep to the car.” Q’s lips curled into an almost sly smile as he got onto his bike. It occurred to Bond, other than the slight odd fact that this boffin was commuting on bicycle, that this probably was the same person who had ridden past him in a flurry that morning.

And before he knew it, Q was off.

 

-

 

Bond found the direction to where he was supposed to go on his mobile, and while he wondered if he should be concerned about how someone had managed to send him such information without his giving out his own number, Bond couldn’t but feel sort of amused.

He watched Q weave into the crowds and traffic and disappear from immediate sight.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

_“I know who you are,” he says, voice quiet and strained. “So you can stop pretending now.”_

_Silence._

_“Pull the trigger,” he continues, filling in the void, the gun’s barrel pressed firmly against the back of his head._

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Gun and a radio,” Bond drawled, looking back up again. “You must be joking.”

“Why? Were you expecting miniaturised explosives, or what?” Q quirked another smug smirk. “I thought you’d be more of a classier type than that.”

“Touché.” Bond looked around at an array of weapons and prototypes, stashed away discreetly in another plain-sight hiding places. “All these designs yours?” he asked with a hum.

“What?” Q must have caught a hint of something there, his tone gaining back a bit of their edges once more. “Disbelieving?” He raised an eyebrow, and Bond shook his head.

“Well, you still have spots,” the agent said, smirking back now when Q snorted indignantly. He was enjoying this (whatever this was) with a cyberterrorist more than he would ever readily admit.

“My complexion is hardly relevant,” he waved it off.

“Your youth is,” Bond pointed out, less of a joke now and more of… something else. Without the context, Q, with his appearance, would have seemed just a normal young man, probably still in university.

Or was it?

He himself had joined the Army when he should have, supposedly, been in school himself.

_Sentiment is a weakness._

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency,” Q retorted.

“And youth,” the man all but enunciated, “is no guarantee of innovation.”

They exchanged looks now, eyes locked. The air felt charged, and Bond held out his hand. “Q,” he said, a proper introduction and meeting this time, it seemed, after their banter.

Q’s eyes were bright and dancing, even under the unyielding fluorescent light, as he took Bond’s offered hand, long fingers wrapped around more calloused ones, firm but without tension this time. He appeared to agree upon this point himself.

“Sterling.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Befriending Kaeden, sort to speak, was even easier than with Morris. But Yamamoto was a different story altogether. Bond had met him for a total of four times so far; they had greeted, sized each other up, and decided they didn’t like one another. And that was that. _(Other than the fact that Bond had spotted at least two concealed knives.)_

And Q, for the matter, remained an enigma. A puzzle that Bond tried to study and hopefully find a way to disarm, but couldn’t. Yet.

He knew, sort of, where Q lived, the neighbourhood (because he’d be an awful 'bodyguard' if he didn’t), but not the specific building itself. It was a quiet place in Kagurazaka—an old French town—but he had only been there a handful of times, mostly on Kaeden’s instructions and Q’s grudging exasperation, on a condition that he stopped at the front of the narrow street that led to where Q claimed he lived.

The fact that Q lived here, instead of being in some fancy flat block off nearer to where Tokyo was, or perhaps just closer to Kaeden’s HQ as it stood, would have been surprising if Bond hadn’t told himself time and again that Q didn’t exactly fit in any type of premade molds that society made for its people.

At any rate, with the sort of hour Q worked, Bond didn’t believe the young man had any sort of energy left to go cycling elsewhere just because he didn’t want to let other specifically know where he stayed at.

Which brought Bond to a strange point in his investigation. It was no one’s secret that Q didn’t quite savour Kaeden’s presence, despite the odds, and while Bond’s new job description was to protect Q, the given instructions felt like it was more on his part to _keep an eye_ on Q.

The agent hummed, turning and twisting everything about in his head, before relaying key point information back to Six.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Woohoo, ten out of ten!” Kaeden exclaimed, lowering the gun prototype he had come to test out. Bond watched with a smile, keeping his exterior warm and friendly enough. Kaeden had keen marksmanship, a skill honed since childhood possibly, given his background, and he had shot through the heart and head of every single target, still or moving, without hesitation, execution style.

Yamamoto was where he should be, watching in the corner, and Q nodded in disinterest while recording whatever numbers and statistics that he needed.

Everything seemed so casual, it was near disturbing.

Near. Because Bond had witnessed a lot of things in his lifetime already.

“Come on,” Kaeden grinned, handing him the gun. “Your turn next.”

The agent took it with a smile, actively not interpreting this as his supporting terrorists and endeavouring them to cause more troubles and end more lives.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Honestly, Bond had expected Kaeden to call on him sooner. The attacks had been happening more frequently after all, and everyone in the organisation was doubling efforts on making sure there were enough weapons around to start a coup, if needed be. Which was absurd, in all accounts. And Yamamoto, no matter his capabilities, couldn’t possibly handle all the stirring troubles.

But if anything, the Yakuza had never really appreciated ‘outsiders’, and they liked it even less when one of those said outsiders told them what to do.

In Bond’s defence, the twit was an annoying prick, who treated women like trash. He had it coming.

Not that he was much better, but at least he didn’t hit or treat women badly just because he was annoyed.

“Marvellous,” Q drawled in his ear, voice filtering clearly through from the earpiece, every drawn syllable of it. “You just started a fight with the boss’ son in a Yakuza club.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Bond said, snapping a charging man’s wrist and knocking the too sharp knife out of his grip.

Neither of them seemed particularly worried about this.

“There’s a small staircase behind your back on the left,” Q began, voice calm and steady like he was narrating a boring action thriller.

Bond listened and swiftly headed up the flights of steps just as three other angry Japanese ran down to meet him.

“Sure you aren’t trying to get me killed?” Bond grunted as he tripped one, barely noticing him tumbling downstairs, before punching the other in the stomach.

“Please, if I had wanted to, you’d already be dead, Sterling.”

Bond’s lips twisted into a small smile. He could almost see that eye roll from miles away. “Oh, I’m touched,” he muttered, jamming the entire force of his palm into a man’s throat, possibly crushing his windpipe. “You do care.”

Q scoffed. “Stop wasting your breath and put your back into it. More are coming.”

“Roger that.”

 

-

 

Once most of them were taken care of, Bond directed his eyes upward to one corner of the walls where a surveillance camera perched, and winked at it.

Q remained silent on the other end of the comms.

Looking back on it later on, he didn’t quite grasp just exactly why he had made that sort of gesture.

 

-

 

Turned out, Q was leading him straight to where the leader of the Yakuza was, father of the punk he had punched in the face. If Bond hadn’t been serious before about Q wanting to kill him, he was entertaining the option a little now.

 

-

 

A couple of hours and some drinks later concluded their talk with Kenji more or less agreeing with Bond on several essential things that would ensure he didn’t stop doing business with Kaeden Corp, and with Q telling him, “Good job. I knew you’d manage it somehow,” in the most sardonic way possible, “now, time to make your grand exit.”

 

* * *

 

“You know I’m not your dog, right?” Bond raised an eyebrow at Q. The brunette didn’t even bother looking up.

“Of course not,” he replied distractedly, tweaking something on some random device. “I like cats better than I ever did dogs.”

The little shit. Bond smirked to himself.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Yamamoto,” Bond said as they stood side-by-side in the lift. Anyone in the company who saw them like this backed out and wisely chose to wait for the next trip up.

“Sterling,” the other man enunciated, like he was muttering the name of a particularly pesky vermin.

Silence stretched, tension reeked in the air despite it all, until: “Quite a scene you caused there with one of our associates.”

‘Associates.’ Right.

“You mean my little talk with Kenji?” Bond replied, eyes straight forward much like what the other assassin was doing, assessing each other out of the collected images from the corners of their eyes. “It was rather enjoyable now that you mention it.”

“You don’t know him to be calling him Kenji,” Yamamoto all but icily growl.

“Don’t I?” Bond hummed. “Well, for better or worse, I had already had tea with him.”

The problem, Bond thought as Yamamoto nearly stormed out of the lift, was that, for a killer who operated mainly on keeping a cool, level-headed attitude, Yamamoto was still far too young and inexperienced in that regard, skilled or no.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Between when Kaeden and Morris weren’t telling him to do something, which was growing more often with them seeming to trust him more, Bond stuck with his assignment and watched Q work.

It was a meticulous thing—how he paid attention to every minute detail, every screw and measurement.

Had he been working on anything else other than guns and weapons for terrorists, Bond might have appreciated the work better.

These days, he had to work to catch himself and focus on the fact that Q, no matter what, was still a cyberterrorist… even if he had never really witnessed the ‘cyber’ side of things.

However, more to the point, watching him work made Bond think back on Tanner’s reports on the glitches in the weapons this organisation churned out, and he frowned, something not sitting just right in his stomach.

Like there was a missing piece to complete the puzzle. Or perhaps a handful, given that this was Q.

Q, who sometimes went off somewhere in the middle of the day, slipping so quick that Bond almost didn’t catch him. (He called it ‘lunch break’, and Kaeden for once, oddly enough, didn’t seem much bothered.) Q, who cycled and rode the tube to work and lived in a suburban area. Q, who disliked the people he was supposed to be working with.

And Q, who directed him through the comms calmer than any other handler he had ever even had back at Six.

Q, who he needed to kill.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_(Why was he working for this organisation in the first place other than the money it offered? Did he find them, or did they find him?)_

_(Dangerous grounds, Bond. Back up.)_

_(Back up.)_

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

To celebrate what was then called the ‘Yakuza Deal’ Bond had managed to pull off, they, or Kaeden, decided to have a night out drinking. And everyone had to come, including Q. Especially him, Kaeden had said, he always weaselled out of these sorts of things.

For good reasons, Bond thought to himself even as he smiled and nodded and promised he’d try to make sure that Q would be there.

Morris was less than happy (because he said they wouldn’t even need the ‘Yakuza Deal’ in the first place if Bond hadn’t managed to mess things up royally), but conceded anyhow on Kaeden’s insistence. And the same went for Yamamoto, Kaeden’s personal breathing shadow, although it was everyone’s guess that he was upset about it. But…

“I’m allergic to pollen,” Q deadpanned whilst Bond was trying to see if he’d go to this rather ridiculous ‘party’ or not. This was a point they both knew weren’t true, however, because the cherry blossoms had been blooming for weeks, and he had been continuing to ride his bike to work and refusing the car the whole time.

Bond smirked. “I’m sure you’ll manage. It’ll probably be indoor anyway, according to my intel.”

Q’s lip curled, all but sneering. “I’ll amend my previous statement then: I’m allergic to people. As you can see.” He made a general gesture at the workspace that seriously lacked human’s presence. Even with Morris and Kaeden, the young man had never worked to conceal his distaste at their occasional hovering, and any ‘helpers’ they tried to install would more or less quit or get fired by the end of the week. So he worked with virtually no one.

Except for Bond, whom Q had attempted to shoo away on multiple occasions to no avail and was then resigned to just let Bond be, as long as he sat still and did not touch anything.

“You seem to tolerate me enough,” Bond pointed out smoothly, pausing Q finally.

“Because you’re bloody persistent and possess no consideration for others’ personal spaces,” Q countered.

“I’m considerate enough.” Bond leant his hip against Q’s desk, arms crossed, as though making some sort of point. “Not to mention that persistence, in this case, seems to pay off well enough.”

He looked straight at Q when he said this, and Q, to his credit, blinked twice before turning away with a snort and the tail end of what seemed like an eye roll. “If you mean that as in getting treated like a toddler in a place full of hazardous materials, then yes.”

If Bond didn’t know better, he would say Q sounded less irritated and sarcastic as he had meant to, but as it was, with the moment breaking upon the buzz of Q’s mobile, an incoming text, and the scowl that critically developed on his face as he read it, Bond didn’t dwell much on it anymore.

“Come on,” Q said suddenly, putting his work down, voice strained. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

The ‘party’ really was indoor. Partially so, if it weren’t for the open door that looked out to the courtyard where cherry trees were blossoming.

Bond sipped at his hot Sake slowly. Kaeden and his associates were having some fun with some women they had hired, and the agent was concealing his repulsion enough to have a good look around at the associates, noting their appearances, accents, and any visible markings on the body.

Q was stiff as a board, barely touching anything they had laid out in front of him, looking out of place as usual. He pulled away from the advances of one of the women as though having touched fire, and Kaeden snorted, red from intoxication already.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Q,” he drawled, slurring. “It’s not like you’d be much else otherwise.”

Q turned to glare at the Kaeden at the words, and, before Bond could properly process the meaning of that chopped up sentence, the brunette had stood up and smiled icily. “Well, I shall bring my melodrama elsewhere then.”

Morris sighed in exasperation and said something to Kaeden as Q stormed out, and for whatever reason, Bond stood up as well.

“I’m his bodyguard,” he said. This was the routine thing he did anyway, and using that excuse, he left as well, the air outside much more cooling and less stifling than the stuffed atmosphere inside that room.

Q was staring at the boot of Bond’s issued car when the agent arrived at the scene, looking as though he was seriously contemplating forcing it open by any possible means to retrieve his folding bicycle.

It had taken a long way to get here, even by car, and for the first time ever, Q had let Bond drive him.

“Why are you following me?” Q snapped, cool demeanour gone.

“Well, this technically _is_ the car they gave me.” Bond shrugged before letting out a soft, quiet breath. “Besides, I rather think it’s time to head back.” He rounded to the passenger seat and opened the door. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

He shot Bond a sceptical, but steady, look. “Never thought you count yourself as a chauffeur,” he muttered.

Bond laughed a little. “I don’t. Only on special occasions.” He paused briefly. “The Sake was shit anyway.”

This brought a faint smile to Q’s lips as he huffed a breath and went forward to slip into the car at last. “Even my umeshu tastes better than that,” he muttered in agreement under his breath.

 

-

 

“Which do you think looks better: blooming cherry blossoms, or them falling to the ground?” Q asked suddenly from where he sat leaning against the window; the bright neon lights outside of a Tokyo’s busy streets painted streaks of colours filtering into the car, casting upon the sharp features of the young man’s face and fracturing in those large, stormy grey-green eyes.

He didn’t sound like he expected much of an answer, quiet as his voice had been, attention still directing outside toward some minor points of interest that had temporarily caught his flicking gaze.

Bond turned back to the road ahead.

“Falling,” he muttered. Q’s eyes were on him now, a sliver of puzzlement in their depths, long eyelashes fluttering with every slow blink.

Because all things faded away, but unlike most others, cherry blossoms always ended with one last shower of glory.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_(This may be too much for a blunt instrument to understand, but arrogance and self-awareness seldom go hand-in-hand._

_You’ve learnt your lesson._

_Trust no one.)_

 

-

 

_Sometimes, he woke up still feeling the tingling of her warmth on his left hand right before the dark water swallowed her up._

 

* * *

 

* * *

  

* * *

 

When Bond got to the laboratory, Yamamoto was there, persistently standing in a corner of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest.

From the apparent look on Q’s face, he didn’t appreciate this at all.

“Well, hello,” Bond greeted casually with a smile. Whether he just disliked Yamamoto’s general presence, or that he disliked the situation on a whole, was a little unclear to the agent. “What have we here?”

“I’m working, as you can see,” Q muttered, magnifying glasses on his eye, his annoyance directed elsewhere rather than at Bond for once.

“And you?” Bond considered the other assassin in the room.

“Watching,” Yamamoto bit out, as though this was the most natural thing in the world, breathing down someone's neck.

“Learning, perhaps?” Bond quipped smoothly, and Q’s mouth twitched.

Yamamoto didn’t answer this right away. “Perhaps, if he hadn’t done the same thing over and over for the last hour or so.” Yamamoto frowned, too frank and conceited for his own good. “Mr Kaeden wants to know why everything is not as fast as he thought it would be.”

“Has anyone ever questioned you why you take so long to clean your weapons? Or practise your skills?” Bond raised an eyebrow.

The assassin opened his mouth and closed it.

“Well… I think you can return to Mr Kaeden and report back now, seeing as I’ll take things from here.” Bond smiled.

“But—…”

“You’re his bodyguard, and I’m Q’s. We both work for Mr Kaeden anyway, so…” Bond left the rest unsaid, the implication ringing sharply in the air.

And quickly, as Bond counted the seconds in his head just because he could, Yamamoto stormed off out of the lab.

Needless to say, Q was then pleased.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Bond seriously had never counted himself a chauffeur, so he wasn’t really pleased when Kaeden ‘asked’ him to stop in front of his house to pick up someone because his own personal driver was taking Kaeden himself elsewhere that day.

Not that his pleasure had ever had much of an effect on anything, if at all. So what did it matter?

What did matter was that Kaeden didn’t have a wife, yet had somehow ended up as the foster father of a girl, a girl who was right then sitting in the back of Bond’s car.

“Hello,” Bond greeted, turning around to look at her. She didn’t look past primary school. “I’m Richard, and I’ll be your driver for the day.” He smiled. “What’s your name?”

She looked at him for a second, ebony hair smooth and stopping just at her shoulders in a bob haircut, one silvery necklace around her neck that disappeared under her clothes, before extending a small hand, green eyes studying him carefully. “I’m Charlotte, or Chiharu, if you’d prefer that.”

Bond shook the offered hand amiably, slightly amused by the little girl’s rather professional attitude. She seemed intelligent, if the edge of sharpness in her innocent gaze was anything to go by.

Interestingly enough, her English had a British accent. Unlike her foster father, whose English bore tones of someone from Southern Europe.

“Whichever you’ll prefer me to call you actually. One should always respect a lady’s wishes, after all.” He smiled.

She blinked a little, as though a little taken aback by the basic courtesy, before replying, “Chiharu, please.”

Bond nodded. “Chiharu, it is.” He turned back once he had made sure she had put on her seat belt. “Now, tell me where we’re going, Chiharu.”

 

* * *

 

They ended up going to a number of places, because it was supposedly Chiharu’s outing day. But all of them seemed more like a routine, a chore, because the servers at the café and restaurant all recognised Chiharu, and nearly reported Bond for being an unknown man with a ten-year-old child.

That, and it wasn’t difficult to see how much all of this wore Chiharu down.

It was obvious, right from the start, that she was a gifted little girl, extremely intelligent and insightful, and while this technically was an outing, it wasn’t one that was beneficial or interesting to her.

And so when Bond stopped the car in front of an ice-cream parlour, he turned back to her and said, as serious as he could be without being stern, “Where do you really want to go, Chiharu?”

She blinked at him. “I thought you were supposed to be following the plan,” the little girl replied slowly, almost cautiously.

Bond shook his head. “To me, plans are guidelines more than anything. You can choose to adhere to it, or you don’t." Not that everyone agreed with this point of view. "So… where do you want to go?”

 

* * *

 

The birds flew away first, flapping their wings in fluttered surprise when she went toward them, a strawberry, mango, and kiwi-flavoured ice-lolly in hand. And much like with anything else, Bond watched her with careful eyes, the way she laughed and shrieked somewhat in delight when the water spurted from their holes in the ground.

His mobile buzzed suddenly.

 _“Where are you?”_ It was Q.

“At a park, why?” Bond raised an eyebrow.

_“Stay right where you are.”_

And he rang off.

 

* * *

 

Bond didn’t know what to think when Q arrived, flushed and panting a little with his hair windswept from all the hurried cycling he must have done, and Chiharu just perked up with a grin and ran toward him, hugging the man tightly. Wisely, he didn't question how Q had managed to find them when Bond had not mentioned at all which park they were at.

Perhaps he should have picked up on the clues and noticed the resemblances before, but now that they were together like this, he could see traces of Q in Chiharu’s features… although the intelligence alone should have already been a massive tell.

They were talking, and the topic of conversation must have turned toward him because Chiharu was gesturing to him as she whispered something to Q, whose eyes had been fixating on Bond this whole time.

Bond stood up, hands in his pockets, and sauntered to the pair as Q let Chiharu back down onto the ground once more so she could continue to play with the in-ground water fountains. The little girl beamed at them both before running off.

“She said you took her here after asking where she wanted to go,” Q said the second Bond was close enough.

The agent nodded; Chiharu was trying to catch the fruity droplets of her melting ice-lolly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Q carried on, voice growing increasingly quiet, face grim with whatever memories clouding over his mind. “But she’s not my daughter.”

The rippling of emotions in Q’s expression was that of a complicated spectrum, and Bond wondered if that had been a flash of regret that he had managed to pick out amongst all the threads.

But that dissipated quickly enough when Chiharu waved and beckoned Q over to play with her. The young man hesitated at first before conceding with a half-hearted long-suffering sigh.

Rock-paper-scissors, and it was so obvious Q was holding back, and Bond grinned when Chiharu just outright exposed his folly for what it was and punished him by making Q the losing party anyway.

He chased after her when their little game began, splashing water at one another. Somewhere along the way, other children and teenagers somehow got involved as well, and it became an all-out miniature water war with the sole target of getting everyone as wet as they could.

And apparently, by everyone, that included Bond, too.

“Hey!”

Bond looked up just in time to catch the culprit who had splashed water onto his trousers, and Q stood there, eyes bright with mirth and mischief, the fringe of his curly mop of hair stuck to his forehead.

That was the first time he had ever heard Q laugh.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you.”

Bond looked over curiously.

Q cleared his throat. “For asking her where she wanted to go and taking her there like that,” he clarified. “Thank you.”

The man shrugged. “I only did what felt right.”

“But you didn’t have to,” Q said, looking at Bond now. There was a sort of intensity in his eyes that felt rather interesting. “So thank you anyway.”

Bond smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

  

_“Remember your mission, Bond. Do not deviate from it.”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

The cicadas were loud, and Bond was seriously considering forgoing his suit for something else less… stifling.

He had forgotten how hot and humid Tokyo was during this time of the year, and the frequent rains barely helped.

Well, Bond looked at Q now, at least he wasn’t the only one suffering. They were out in Akihabara, shopping for something, and despite the smouldering heat, Q was being very insistent and particular with what he was looking for.

“Couldn’t you have just, I don’t know, ordered it from wherever you’re ordering the rest of your equipment?”

Q shot him a near disgusted look, cheeks flushed under the sun as they walked to yet another hardware shop, fanning himself to create some form of air circulation. “Like you’d let someone else pick your equipment for you if you could have any say in it,” he scoffed. True.

“Why do you need to upgrade your computer anyway?” Bond asked.

“Because it’s mandatory after some time if I want to stay at the top of my game.” He paused a little. “And Elias wanted an upgrade anyway.”

There had been more and attacks basing off on the information Bond had managed to gather, tidbits of this and that amongst the staff, from Elias and Morris… and from Q himself. Things were growing rather tensed, and Bond knew he would need to wrap this up soon before something untoward happened.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, if Bond hadn’t turned around, he wouldn’t have been able to react to that too-fast approaching car.

 

* * *

 

Police sirens wailed in the distance, and Bond flexed his aching jaw once, sparing the knocked-out thugs on the street one last glance, before turning to grab Q’s hand as they rushed away from the scene.

Normally, he would have made sure to extract some sort of solid information from them before walking away like this, but this was Akihabara, people were flocking all over, and it was best to leave this place first.

And it hadn’t been him they were targeting anyway, whomever they were working for.

 

* * *

 

 _“What the fuck happened?”_ Kaeden, at least, didn’t sound happy.

“I don’t know, sir,” Bond replied, navigating through traffic, whilst Q was typing rapidly away on his laptop. “They came out of nowhere, and I focused on taking them down and getting away from the scene, instead of staying to interrogate each.”

_“How’s Q?”_

“Safe, as far as I can tell. I’m taking him somewhere secure first. Somewhere not our base.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“So this is your secure place?” Q adjusted his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Well, if you’ve got a better idea, then pray tell. But if you had really expected me to bring you back to your place, considering everything, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Touché.”

Bond’s lips quirked upward, and the man gestured him in without saying another word with them heading up the fourth floor to where Bond’s flat was, going straight down to the end of the hallway.

“Nothing much,” Bond murmured as he opened the door and let Q in. “But it’ll do. And at least I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Q looked around the flat, taking in details, no doubt, before settling down at the most neutral place of all—the sofa. He set his messenger bag to the floor beside his feet, leaning back with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes from behind those seemingly too large glasses.

“A drink?” Bond offered.

“Make it two, if it’s something decent.”

Bond snorted and went to the liquor cabinet to pour them each a tumbler of scotch, handing one over to Q.

The brunette took it, sniffing at the amber liquid as though sceptical of Bond’s taste in this sort of thing, then took a sip.

“Good enough,” he hummed, seeming to relax further now, and Bond rolled his eyes, setting down the first-aid kit onto the coffee table.

In his defence, it was already there by the time he arrived.

“Patch yourself up then,” he said and sat down as well.

Q looked at him. “Here I was, thinking you were going to try and play nurse,” he drawled, pulling a scoff from Bond’s lips.

“Not a chance,” the man shook his head. “Either you do it yourself, or you don’t.”

At this, the young boffin conceded a nod. Not that his injury was anything troublesome; he had only scraped his forearm too hard against the pavement when he fell down under the too strong force of Bond’s yank—a marginally acceptable attempt at trying to get him out of harm’s way.

“Shouldn’t you be treating your injuries, too?” Q asked as he disinfected the sluggishly bleeding wounds, shallow and only stinging somewhat.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Q looked up. “From the looks of it, you’re just too bothered by the idea of receiving treatment more than anything.”

Bond turned to carefully regard the young man. “And you’d know that?”

“I know enough to also recognise you think I’m too young.”

Bond blinked. “Too young for what?” He raised an eyebrow. “And how is that relevant?”

“Just an example,” Q adjusted his glasses once more, watching Bond. “And I am right, aren’t I? So don’t be a baby; treat that cut.”

And he just tossed Bond a tube of antiseptic along with an expectant look of get-it-over-with.

Grudgingly, after a long minute or so, Bond did.

“I erased all the footage that managed to capture what happened, so at least we don’t have to worry about anything more than eyewitnesses’ accounts, and those tend to be conflicting at best.” Q sighed, taking another sip of his scotch.

“Any idea who they were?” Bond raised an eyebrow, and the other just shrugged.

“I have a lot of enemies, Sterling, and I can’t always keep track of them.”

“Why?”

Q turned to look at him. “Why what?” His voice had lowered down a notch or two.

 _Why are you doing this? Why are you working for them? Why did you end up here anyway?_ “Why do have a lot of enemies?” He had vague ideas for all these questions. All unconfirmed.

The brunette snorted. “Don’t be daft.” His eyes were sharp, illuminating in the dying sunlight that peered in through the curtained windows. “You know why I have a lot of enemies.” Their eyes locked, the turmoil of Q’s eyes manifested in the nearly golden flecks that scattered in his pupils, the green engulfing them like the sea swallowing up any spoils of sinking ships into its depths. “You know clearly what I do.”

“Yes,” the man replied, their voices dropping into the quiet lulls. “I do.”

He leant back into the sofa, too. “So, you’re not too young?” Bond continued.

The smile on Q’s lips managed a ghostly, mysterious feel. “Well past the legal age of consent, and old enough to have tried a lot of things,” he said.

In that moment, Bond reminded himself that Q was a terrorist he needed to kill.

 

* * *

 

Watching Q, Bond wondered if he should feel surprised that Q could finish a bowl of donburi rice and another cold soba noodles sharply after its heel, considering that the young boffin pulled through very odd hours.

They watched crap telly after that, drinking cold beers to ebb away the cold.

If the feeling was strange, neither of them spoke of it and pretended as though this was basically what they did every day.

 

* * *

 

They ended up watching a young adult feature film (because nothing else was attention-catching enough), where a boy met a girl, whom he later found out no one could remember for longer than a few hours, including her parents, including her friends, including himself.

They all forgot her one by one, a condition that started out of the blue one day, and no matter how hard she tried to remind them of who she was, she still faded away from their memories.

It was one of those strange what-if scenarios that Japanese films seemed to cater to, one that had Bond frowning a little once he had stopped trying to think about the logic behind all of this and how improbable it was in real life.

Q was quiet through it all, and it was difficult to tell whether he was bored, or if he was just absorbing it all in.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_“Don’t lose your sight,” Kincade whispered, voice barely there, hunting rifle in his arms as he crouched down, balanced, and took aim. “Keep your eyes on the prey, conceal your presence well, and maintain your breathing.”_

_He looked at James briefly, steady in the wavering eyes of the young boy._

_“Now,” he began. “In this moment when you have your prey in sight, it becomes your choice.”_

_Either you kill it, or you let it go._

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“I know who you are, so you can stop pretending now.” The line of Q’s shoulders was rigid in the illuminating pale blue light emitting from his laptop screen and that of the lamp post outside.

Bond pressed his gun closer to the back of Q’s skull, nestling against those rich, thick curls, black in the oppressing darkness of the room.

He had Bond’s secure, MI6-issued mobile connected to his laptop. The one the agent had hidden behind a fake back board in the top drawer of the bedside table.

“Pull the trigger.”

Q didn’t even bother turning around.

“How did you know where to find it?” Bond asked, the syllables clipped and stern.

Even with a gun to his head, Q still had the audacity to snort. “Please, the drawer was two inches shorter than it should be. But really, I already knew who you were even before I got my hands on it.” He looked over his shoulder now, the one visible eye fixed on Bond. “You guys should really update your system. Getting into it was a bit of a challenge, but not impossible if one’s persistent enough.”

“Then why haven’t you reported me?”

“Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d get?”

“Like how you purposefully alter minute calculations just so the produced weapons will jam every now and then and possibly cause a bit of a stir when they do?” Bond’s gaze remained calm enough. Q was too bloody clever for all of that to be unintentional. Even the occasional, anonymous yet spot-on tips must have been on him as well. “Just to see how far you’d get?”

Q clenched his jaws a bit at this, staying quiet now.

“If you’re going to kill me, do it now,” he said. “I’m a terrorist, and this is what you do to terrorist, _Bond_ ,” he spat Bond’s name like a curse. “You exterminate them.”

“You really do wish to die?” Bond raised an eyebrow, finger unwavering on the trigger.

“I have no love lost for life,” Q smiled a bitter, cruel smile that twisted his face into some form of expression that Bond had never seen before, ugly and fractured… and one he wished that he would never have to see again.

Then it stuttered as he turned around. “Just… take care of Chiharu.” Q’s voice quavered softly. “She is innocent, and even if all of this has been nothing but a ruse right from the start… If you can just find the sympathy to spare her, I—I will gladly let you kill me.”

And he closed his eyes, leaning forward so his forehead rested against the gun barrel, eyelashes fluttering in the faintest of motion before they settled against those high, pale cheekbones.

Silence shrouded over them, and like this, perfectly still, Q was like a well-sculpted statue, long neck craning in the clash of blue and yellow hues that stretched and spilt along the planes of his flesh, the rise and falls of his jutting bones and delicate long limbs, lips red and glistening.

Bond’s heart beat louder, faster, than he wanted it to in the quiet space.

With a growl, he clashed his lips in a hurried, hungry kiss, all teeth and bites and a desire that had been brewing for far too long.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Bond said when they had pulled away from one another, and were gasping for air. “You’re actively trying to undermine their entire organisation. And with Chiharu in Kaeden’s hands…”

Q shook his head. “There’s already blood on my hand, Bond,” he said. “Too much blood. I can’t walk away from this like I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You can’t,” Bond agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to die in the process. If we play this right, Chiharu _and_ you can escape this together. You’re not working alone anymore.”

Q stared at Bond. “Why do you trust me?” His voice was strained, choked. “This can all be a trick, and they can come crashing right through that door and kill you at any given moment.”

For a second there, Bond paused, then, with fingers on Q’s chin tilting his head upward, hot breaths mingling, their faces millimetres apart, he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, “Then all the things I’ve seen in you, still do, is wrong.”

His thumb traced along the plumb curve of Q’s lower lip, tugging some at the corner.

A small noise clawed its way past Q’s throat, and finally, he clung onto Bond and opened his mouth.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_“You know I’m not doing this because I’m trying to pressure you? I will still help you even if you don’t sleep with me.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Then why?”_

_“Why what?”_

_“Why sleep with me?”_

_“Feeling insecure, are we?”_

_“Of course not.”_

_“Then shut up and kiss me.”_

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Q’s hips fitted into the palms of Bond’s hands comfortably as they grounded and moved against one another in a slow dance of vigour and sensuality. And Bond drank from Q’s lips all the noises and sighs, mapped out all the ways he arched and groaned at Bond’s nips and licks.

This wasn’t nameless sex and temporary bodily enjoyment; at least, it didn’t feel like it.

The passion burnt in Bond’s veins like coiling fire, swelling with the pace of his heart as his hands painted along Q’s skin, smooth and unblemished, paper-thin yet concealing away the firm muscles underneath.

Q felt more fragile than he should, though far from helpless, and he was unabashed in his exploration also, feeling out Bond’s scar with equal parts of curiosity and tenderness. He didn’t ask, and Bond didn’t stop him.

The sheet stuck to their bodies amidst this summer heat, but that was beyond the noticeable issue right then with Bond reaping quiet moans and gasps from Q before swallowing them up, tucking them away, and making them his.

And all the while Q didn’t let go of Bond, not even once, his eyes never shying away from the man, entirely focused in the moment as they were.

It shouldn’t be anything of significance, but, in the back of Bond’s mind… perhaps it was.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_Before, there were two orphan brothers walking down a long and winded path. They had nothing and no one to turn to._

_They studied hard, appealed themselves to adults so maybe some nice people would take them in._

_No one did, but that was okay. They weren’t lonely; they had each other._

_One day, the little brother received money from a scholarship to attend a university different from that of his brother, but at the encouragement of his brother, he accepted it._

_To this day, sometimes, he still wonders if he should have done that in the first place._

_Later, his elder brother told him that a good friend was helping him cover the part of the housing fee that he couldn’t afford as of yet. And in reply, as they now could not see each other so often anymore, he cautioned his brother to not come to rely on this good friend too much._

_However, that was only the start of the problem._

_More and more, it was not difficult for him to see how that good friend was weaving himself into his brother’s life, and gradually, the friend was beginning to ask after him as well, insisting they meet._

_It didn’t happen. Time and again, he used all sort of excuses to back out of these meetings until, finally, his brother packed up and left to help that friend in establishing a company in Japan, where he met his wife and had a daughter together._

_When the girl turned nine, both her parents died in a car accident._

 

-

 

_“I-I was w-wrong… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… Please save Chiharu. Plea—…”_

_Tut. Tut. Tut._

 

-

 

_His aim had been at the little brother all along._

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Rain drizzled down onto the stone paths, and the hydrangeas were in full bloom—red, purple, and blue—their own brand of tranquillity that meandered along the grounds of the shrine, all nectar and the scent of wet soil in the air.

Bond felt like an outsider in this sort of place, but then again, he supposed most of anyone who wasn’t part of the shrine itself would feel like they didn’t quite belong in the picture and atmosphere it created.

The man watched as Q offered some money before going over to hold onto the middle rope to shake the bells, clapping his hands twice, and bowing.

Briefly, Bond wondered what sort of prayer the young man was making here.

“You never strike me as a religious person,” Bond said later on when they were standing at the omikuji booth.

“I’m not,” Q stated flatly, offering yet some more money, and curious, Bond did the same. He knew what was going on well enough; he just had never done it before in all honesty. “But sometimes,” he shook the hexagon box gently a few times until a stick slotted out, transparent umbrella temporarily deposited in Bond’s hold, “it’s interesting to see how these things turn out.” 

Bond took the box from Q’s hands once he was done with it, still a little warm, and did the same and memorised the number he received before putting the stick back where it should be.

They ended up going to two very different drawers, far away from one another, to seek out their fortunes.

“Great blessing,” Q hummed, pleased, then gave his companion an inquisitive gaze. “Yours?”

Bond looked at his slip of paper pensively for a couple more seconds before turning it over for the other to see.

It read, _‘Great Curse.’_

And from the looks of it, it took every ounce of self-control for Q not to snort aloud in amusement.

The brunette cleared his throat and patted Bond’s shoulder in what must have been a reassuring gesture.

“Well, I heard these ones are extremely rare, so the fact that you just happen to draw it is already good luck in and of itself,” he soothed, still sounding too bloody mirthful, and Bond found himself laughing, despite it all.

“Right,” the man drawled, a sceptical sound. “And I reckon your blessing should solve everything.”

Q shrugged. “Belief is a choice after all. Come on, let’s just tie it up and see how it goes.”

Bond nodded in amusement. “Well, at least yours and mine cancel each other out.”

“And make it a zero?” Q raised an eyebrow.

“Better neutral, right?” Bond smoothed and folded the paper up neatly, tying it around one of the wires along with numerous other omikujis.

“No, thank you,” the brunette deadpanned.

Bond straightened and stared at him. “Cheap,” he accused.

Q shrugged dismissively, lips curling up into a smirk that Bond wanted to kiss away. “Thought you already noticed.”

 

* * *

 

Q set a small glass down in front of Bond.

“You honestly live in a condo on a shrine’s grounds.”

Q sighed exasperatedly. “For the last time, it’s _next_ to a shrine’s grounds.”

“There’s no separating wall.”

“That was the architect’s intention,” Q ground out. “So, either we stop this conversation now, or I’m taking that back.”

Bond picked up his glass of umeshu and sipped at it, ice cubes clinking together quietly. The cooling sourness coated in that light layer of sweet, fruity sugar washed over his taste buds in a rush, ebbing the humidity of the day away in an instant.

“It’s good,” Bond commented truthfully; he never really lied about this sort of things either. But, as he looked up at Q, instead of the expected smugness, there was a hint of sadness in his features as he closed the lid to the umeshu jar carefully.

“My sister-in-law made it,” he said. “They used to have a plum tree in the back of their house.”

And Bond just nodded, not knowing what else to say.

He cast his eyes out beyond the window toward the temple within sight and asked himself if picking this building had been a random choice on Q’s part at all.

_(“There’s already blood on my hand, Bond. Too much blood.”)_

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Bond never reported any of this back to M because he knew her, and he knew she would question his decision first and would refuse to take the necessary steps in time.

He just needed to make a few calls.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_There was to be a shipment of new equipment within a couple of weeks or so, and Kaeden had been pressuring Q about this._

_It was a new type of information gathering. Once the hardware, in the form of a mini flash drive, was plugged into the targeted system, it would automatically begin the process of disabling the firewalls, accessing relevant and necessary information that had been preprogramed (which only required average skills in computer usage to manage), and encrypting the files also._

_It had been only a hypothesis Q wrote and theorised in his graduating thesis, but it had caught Kaeden’s eyes, and thus, driven him to forcing Q to make it happen._

_They needed to hurry._

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**_[Five hours earlier. . .]_ **

 

* * *

 

“How’s everything, Richard?” Kaeden asked conversationally with Yamamoto the glaring, hovering figure in the corner—he had always appeared like a particularly sulky child anyway. They were in his office, and Bond smiled, hands in his pockets.

“It's a good job,” he said.

“Is it?” Kaeden looked up. “You don't mind any of the things we have asked you to do?”

“When you’ve come this far into the business as I have, there really isn't much left.” Bond raised an eyebrow. “And you don't pay me to mind, Elias.” He quirked a half-smile as Kaeden laughed.

“See, I knew I was right about you,” he said, leaning back into his chair, fingers laced in his lap. Something like displeasure flashed in Yamamoto’s eyes, but ebbed away. “Morris kept saying you seemed… emotional, that you wouldn't be fitting for the job.” He shrugged. “Well, I said you passed the test, you execute your orders with flexibility, and so far, you’ve already protected our company's asset really well.” There was a slight lilt to his tone at this that flashed by so fast Bond almost didn’t pick it up.

But it was gone, and he winked at Bond. “So no worries. I’ve got you covered.”

Bond chuckled. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“So, how's your job of keeping Q safe?”

“Everything is going smoothly and—…”

But the door opened right then, revealing Kaori, Kaeden’s secretary.

Annoyance snapped onto Kaeden’s face.

“Sir, I’m sorry to intrude, but…”

“What is it?”

She went over and whispered something to Kaeden, the frown on his face growing increasingly pinched the longer she talked.

“What?!” Kaeden hissed, standing up in a flurry and rushing out of his office. “Sorry, Richard, but I need to go and assess this first.”

Yamamoto followed, but he paused somewhat as he went past Bond, staring into his eyes until the subject of his loyalty growled at him to follow.

The door slammed shut, and Bond could hear Kaeden yelling, “Where the fuck is Morris?” from a distance away.

Bond looked up to the surveillance camera in the corner once with a wink before closing in on Kaeden’s laptop.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_[First: Distraction and extraction.]_

_“I don’t have all of the security information. They don’t trust me enough. Do they tell you when the next attack may be?”_

 

* * *

 

Kaeden arrived at his pharmaceutical branch, and paused when he saw that it was, in fact, still up and running. Entirely intact.

The security guard was busy muttering something nervously, asking why he had come to visit, and Kaeden barely heard him, phone still pressed to his ear.

“Morris, where are you?!” he barked.

 _“Almost there.”_ The other man replied patiently. _“I’m pulling in right now.”_

“Pulling in _where_?! I’m standing right here!”

“To the club! I—!”

The line was abruptly disconnected.

With a curse, Kaeden returned to his car; Yamamoto’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Back to the company. _Now_!”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_[Jam communication. Separate them.]_

_They needed to cut off Morris first._

* * *

 

_“Bond. If something happens to me, go to Chiharu, she will…”_

_“Nothing will happen to you, though. Or to Chiharu. I’ll make sure of it.”_

_“You sound so sure of it.”_

_“Because I am.”_

_He had gone a long way from making promises he couldn’t keep._

 

* * *

 

The call came when Bond was just getting onto his motorcycle.

 _“What the hell are you up to, Bond?”_ M sounded a little crossed. The news that Morris had been caught in conjunction to the attacked brothel was making the seven o’clock news after all.

His eyes flickered over to Q, who was eying the vehicle acting as though he wasn’t listening to the one-sided conversation at all.

“Something of importance,” Bond muttered, starting the engine, listening to the familiar purr of it as the frame hummed under him. “I’ll report back later.”

And with that he hung up, handing a helmet over to Q and gesturing to the seat behind him.

“Shall we?” he said it with a smile, like they were heading out for leisure or something, which caused Q to quirk a small smile, rolled his eyes, and put on the helmet as he got on.

“So, there’s only one rule for this,” Bond began, shifting gear. “Hold on tight.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_[And bite them in the jugular.]_

 

* * *

 

“I’m disabling everything,” Q relayed, typing quickly on the keyboard, “and switching on the self-destruction initiative.”

“Destroying all your work?” Bond looked at him.

“They’re better gone than lingering and enabling other terrorists to replicate and improve on them,” was all Q said on the matter, and Bond understood the sentiment well enough. “We have company.”

Bond peered at the monitors and nodded. “Wrap it up and hurry down the tunnel.” The underground tunnel that was meant to be an emergency escape route out of the facility.

“You’ll meet me there?” Q looked up from his work for the first time, the note of uncertainty in his eyes foreign from what Bond was used to.

“I’ll try, but your safety comes first, so even without me, you leave this place.”

“Why does my safety come first?” A frown creased his brows. “You’re no more expendable than I am, no matter what you or anyone else may think.”

Bond opened his mouth to perhaps reply, but nothing quite came out.

“So I will see you in the tunnel,” Q said. _Stated_. “Now, go.”

And the agent left.

 

* * *

 

Knowing that one’s enemy possessed more than two knives on his person and finding that out the hard way, were two different things. Bond hissed and leant back just in time before the sharp point of one of Yamamoto’s military grade weapons slashed his face up permanently while smacking the other one plunging toward him.

It was a struggle, his suit was in tatters and some cuts were bleeding, but that was all right also because Yamamoto himself was running out of breath from the fractured ribs and various other bruises that were already blooming on his face that Bond had caused.

Sidestepping him, Bond smacked to the side of his face, knocking him wayward and adding a kick to that just as Yamamoto caught his foot, his knives nicking through the blonde’s trousers before Bond managed to shove him away, which ended up with both men tumbling on the floor.

With a growl, Bond pushed himself up to make his next move when someone shouted: “ _Stop!_ ”

Kaeden was standing there, having grown impatient and had gone out of the car to see just what in the bloody hell was going on, and was pointing his gun straight at Bond. This gave his dog a chance, and Yamamoto was up, razor sharp knife pressing to Bond’s throat right over his pulse point, sinking into skin.

Bond calculated his chances of getting out of this more or less intact, at least, Q’s words flashing in his mind. However, given the situation at hand, with him knowing how good a marksman Kaeden was and with a knife to his throat, the chances were dwindling considerably.

Suddenly, the power went out.

A shot rang out, and Bond yanked Yamamoto forward by the wrist, twisted it in his grasp just so the knife clattered to the floor, and got a knee up the assassin’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Snatching for one of the fallen weapons, Bond stabbed Yamamoto right in the back through where his heart should be.

That was when Bond snapped to his left at the sudden presence of someone, nearly choking Q with his bare hands.

Q, who was then holding a gun in one hand. Bond’s eyes flickered a bit farther away, and, as expected, spotted Kaeden on the floor.

“Come on.” Q said, pulling him to where the tunnel lay. “We have less than five minutes.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**_[Now. . .]_ **

 

* * *

 

Q refrained from pushing down on the distress button again, his other free hand pressing down tightly onto Bond’s wound, which was still bleeding, considering the size of it and the pull of gravity.

“Are you sure it’s working?” he asked.

Bond gave a laugh, light and much breathier than before. “We’ll have to see, don’t we?”

“What are you—… Stop saying things like that. It’s going to work, okay?” Q replied, voice strained with fear fuelling his annoyance. “It has to.”

“Whatever you say, Q,” Bond chuckled. “You have yet to be wrong.”

“Hey,” Q murmured, hand on Bond’s cheek. “I’ve always been right, all right?”

“Yes, yes,” Bond drawled. “The Know-It-All.”

“No.” Q shook his head. “The-Always-Right.”

“Of course.” Bond smiled, and even in the darkness, he could still imagine the deep green in those big eyes, and how long the eyelashes framed their lids.

Q was quiet for a few seconds, lips pursed, before whispering, “Do you think Chiharu—…”

“She’s safe,” the agent replied, tone firm. “She’s in the U.S Embassy right now. I got a message just when I was heading down to meet Kaeden and his beloved goon.”

Yes, Kaeden and his beloved goon. Kaeden, who got shot possibly just a centimetre or two away from his heart, who had possibly used the last ounce of his strength to shoot at one of the gas tanks and trigger an early explosion, ending them crushed underneath all this rubble and concrete.

“I see…” Q sighed in relief, before softly adding, “Thank you, James.”

Bond hummed. “Now, let’s us save our breath and wait until someone arrives.”

Yes, confined in this small space, they both knew how limited the oxygen level was… They didn’t have too long to spare now, and no matter what happened, he refused to let Q die on his watch, not in here, not like this. And so he regulated his breathing, in and out, slowly, gradually, softly.

If he was a dying man already, he wasn’t going to drag anyone down with him.

“I thank you not just for saving Chiharu, James,” Q murmured, ignoring Bond’s warning just now in favour of whatever he was about to say next. “But for everything you’ve done as well.”

Bond paused then quirked a small smile, letting out a soft breath. “Thank you for trusting me, too.” There was no denying how much of a risk that was.

“It was a leap of faith we both took,” Q said, and Bond couldn’t agree more.

And quietly, ever so gently, Q leant up to brush a kiss over Bond’s lips, and the man smiled.

 

* * *

 

“Stay with me,” Q gritted his teeth. “Stay with me, James.”

Bond grunted, “I’m not going anywhere, Q.”

He was starting to reach that dangerous zone of blood loss, but Bond was steadfastly disregarding this fact, disregarding how loud his pulse and breath sound in his own ears, how he could now pick out the clear distress in Q’s voice, how his body was starting to give out under all this crushing weight.

“I’m…” Bond tried shifting again. “I’m taking you out for dinner after this.”

“What?” Q seemed incredulous, and given the situation, Bond supposed it was only right for him to think so.

“I said, I’m taking you out for dinner. After this.” Bond couldn’t help a small chuckle.

There was a slight pause, with Q muttering ‘incorrigible’ under his breath, before he replied, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Bond raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that. And I’m making a radio with a much, _much_ longer range than yours. Now, be quiet, James.”

 

* * *

 

When the rescue team found them and pulled them out from under the debris, Bond was white as a sheet, his suit soaked through with blood.

Q was in only a marginally better state, covered in small cuts and bruises and Bond’s blood, coughing from all the dust and dirt he had had to breathe in. But he wasn’t sitting still; he was trying to go to where they were settling Bond down onto the stretcher.

“I guess,” Bond mumbled, voice small amidst the chaos, and Q had to lean in close to catch the faint words. “I guess I was right… they did cancel each other out.”

_Great Blessing, and Great Curse._

And Q laughed a dry, scratchy laugh.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**_[Some months later. . .]_ **

 

* * *

 

“Uncle, uncle.”

Q cracked an eye open with a small groan.

“Yes, Chiharu?” he murmured thickly, seeing the little girl in blurry shapes of colours from where he was still nestled in all the sheet and blankets.

“Breakfast is ready!” she chirped, so bright in this early hour. Q would find it adorably endearing if he were to be more of a morning person. “And Uncle James said your tea is there, too, so you’d better get up quickly before the food cools.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. “Did he now?”

“Yes,” a male voice replied. Bond was leaning against the doorframe. “He did.”

Chiharu giggled, her eyes shining with amusement, as she made her way out of the room, letting Bond take her place.

“Come on, time to get up,” Bond insisted, the edge of the bed dipping from where he sat, laughing softly when Q huffed and rolled away.

When he felt a pair of soft lips pressing against the nape of his neck, Q smiled himself, secretly hidden behind his cocoon of warmth.

They had finally begun to live their lives, it seemed… Together this time. M was still crossed, possibly with Bond more for what he hadn't told her than with Q because had his own (cluttered) office now, and those who knew his background had yet to actually trust him. But it didn't matter so much.

Hardship was ahead—it always would be—but at least they weren’t alone.

Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

_**End.** _

**Author's Note:**

> The Japanese film Bond and Q watched together is a 2015 feature film called **_Wasurenai to Chikatta Boku ga Ita_** (Forget Me Not). The title literally means, "There was a me who vowed to never forget."


End file.
